


Transported

by manningstar



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: kbl-reversebang, Fanart, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manningstar/pseuds/manningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way Blaine finds release from the trials and tribulations of life as a closeted high school freshman is by losing himself in the emotions and sensations of playing the cello. But when his cello takes on a life of its own, Blaine learns to find courage through love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Transported

**Artist:** [Tarabottiwrites](http://tarabottiwrites.tumblr.com)

**Author:** [Manningstar](http://manningstar.tumblr.com)

**Rating (art/fic if different):** PG-13

**Word Count:** 8,500/17,000 (in progress)

**Warnings:** None

**Fic Summary:** The only way Blaine finds release from the trials and tribulations of life as a closeted high school freshman is by losing himself in the emotions and sensations of playing the cello. But when his cello takes on a life of its own, Blaine learns to find courage through love. 

**Link to Art:** See the amazing art for this story [here](http://tarabottiwrites.tumblr.com/post/94358643514/so-im-posting-my-kurt-blaine-reverse-bang-2014).

**Link to Fic:** [Read it on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2113959/chapters/4612083) **  
**

**Art Thumbnail:**

**Author's notes:** Thank you so much to [Tarabottiwrites](http://tarabottiwrites.tumblr.com) for creating such an inspiring and beautiful piece of art. As soon as I saw it, I couldn't get the idea for this story out of my head. I also am incredibly grateful to [Wowbright](http://wowbright.tumblr.com) for providing great insights as beta for this fic and also to [Gigisplanet](http://gigisplanet.tumblr.com) for pitching in with additional, very helpful editing and cheerleading. And of course, thank you to the organizer of the KBL-Reversebang for being the catalyst for so many wonderful new stories and works of art in the fandom. 

 

************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

**Transported - Chapter One**  

The room was noisy – layers of excited chatter, shouts and raucous laughter blended with random rapid-fire riffs of bows on strings. Blaine hugged his cello close to him, turning a peg as he pulled the bow across a string, pretending to listen intently as he tuned the instrument. It was a good cover. As he bent his head closer to the strings, he peered up almost through the pegs, eyes darting around the room until he spotted him.

Jeremiah had his back to Blaine as he adjusted the cymbal attachment to the drums. He straightened and turned, smile wide as he listened to something the boy next to him said. Suddenly, he broke out into laughter, his head tilting back and the skin around his eyes wrinkling in delight. Blaine’s eyes traced the outline of the older boy’s broad shoulders, the hard planes of his face, the bright blue eyes, before focusing on his long, loose curls. Blaine was just imagining how it would feel to run his fingers through his hair when Jeremiah met his gaze with an amused smile still lingering on his lips.

Blaine startled, ripping his gaze away. He felt betrayed by the pounding of his heart against his chest. It was so loud he was afraid everyone else could hear it even over the cacophony of the music room. That they would know it was pounding because of a boy. He trained his eyes on the floor and took a few deep breaths, willing his heart to slow, telling himself that it was all in his imagination. Everyone else was wrapped up in their own conversations and miniature jam sessions. They weren’t actually staring at him. It was all in his imagination.

The deep breaths started to have a calming effect. But as Blaine dared once more to glance around the room, he realized that the stares were not at all in his imagination. Every pair of eyes in the room was laser-focused on him. And they weren’t just staring. They were shouting, too.

“Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” They shouted in unison, clapping or stomping the floor in time with their chants.

It was Blaine’s worst nightmare come to life. Soon everyone in the school would know all about his secret desires and that would be it. No more respect. No more friends. No more safety.

As Blaine looked around the room again in a panic, the words of the chant began to sink in. “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” The words were clearly directed at him. But say yes to what? Surely this wouldn’t be the words he would expect his class to shout at him if they could read his inner thoughts about Jeremiah.

Blaine wrinkled his brow in confusion. “What?” he said softly, turning toward Justin, the second chair cellist.

“Damn Blaine, you really are a space cadet sometimes,” Justin whispered loudly to him. Blaine could barely make out the words over the shouting of the rest of the school orchestra. “Did you really not hear her?”

“What?” he asked again stupidly.

“Tina just asked you out. Aren’t you going to say yes?” Justin said.

“Tina?” Blaine said questioningly. He looked across the room at the viola section and saw his friend gazing at him with hopeful eyes. She was the only one not shouting. Her cheeks were a little flushed, the corners of her hesitant smile just starting to waver with doubt.

Blaine and Tina had been friends since fifth grade, ever since they were paired up to sing a duet together in the school play. Blaine has always enjoyed her company and admired her confidence. Case in point: asking a boy out in front of the entire high school orchestra. He smiled a bit at her dauntlessness. He could hardly imagine taking that kind of risk himself. But at the same time, it made him a bit angry. As daring and bold as Tina’s action had been, it was also quite manipulative. If she had asked him in private, he would have had a chance to consider his answer and be honest about his feelings. But Blaine has always been polite to a fault. And how could he humiliate his friend in public?

“Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” It was a relentless pounding in his head. Blaine glanced around the room again, a warring mess of feelings swirling through him. Relief at his secret being safe, admiration and love for his friend, anger and indignation at being put in this position, embarrassment about the spectacle which this had become.

He opened his mouth and closed it, still unsure what to do. He ignored the flutter in his stomach and forced himself to look at Jeremiah. At his achingly beautiful eyes. At his luscious, red-tinged mouth. The mouth that was moving in time to the echoing shouts. Yes, Jeremiah was also urging Blaine to say yes to Tina.

Blaine stifled a sigh. He met Tina’s eyes again and forced a smile onto his face. “Yes,” he said.

Tina’s face brightened and the room broke out into cat calls and clapping, just as Ms. Amadeo burst into the room. “What is all this racket about? Everyone, back in your seats. Andiamo! That’s better. Everyone get out your sheet music for the Mozart concerto. Con spirito!”

*********************************************

Blaine shoved another forkful of curry chicken and rice into his mouth before he even finished chewing the first in a misguided attempt to speed up the sometimes torturous process of eating dinner with his parents. It wasn’t always this bad. Often, his mom would spin rapid-fire tales about a funny situation with a co-worker or the man behind her in line at the grocery store. Or his dad would solemnly declare that they really have to start thinking about how to solve that problem with the water leaking into the basement and causing the tiles in the workout room to curl or share another somewhat outrageous idea for how to reconfigure the kitchen to make it more efficient. These kinds of conversations kept his parents’ focus on each other. Blaine himself would be free to laugh or smile at the appropriate moments or add a quick question, suggestion, or even a light-hearted, teasing comment. That was Blaine’s preferred dynamic.

Tonight, however, the dinner conversation was not going Blaine’s way.

“Maggie was telling me that Artie is dating a cheerleader now. You remember Artie, don’t you, sweetheart?” Blaine’s mom asked him pointedly. Blaine nodded. “He’s in ninth grade, too. And he’s in a wheelchair.”

Blaine’s mom stared at him, clearly expecting a response.

“Pretty amazing,” Blaine said, looking intently at the yellow rice on his plate.

“So of course the conversation turned to you,” she continued, gaze now on her husband. “Maggie wanted to know all about our son’s girlfriends – past and present.”

“What did you say?” Blaine’s dad asked, stifling a laugh. “That he’s too focused on the cello to even look at girls?”

“Well, it’s not that girls aren’t interested in him,” Blaine’s mother sighed. “I mean, how many times has he come home with a gift from yet another fawning girl from his class. Woven bracelets, chocolates, custom playlists…”

Blaine wanted to remind his parents that he was still in the room and to stop talking about him as if he wasn’t there. But he pressed his teeth together hard and said nothing, thinking it best not to draw more attention to himself. The strategy didn’t buy him much time.

“I really don’t see why you never give them a chance,” his mother said perplexedly. “The girl who gave you the chocolates was really sweet.”

“And pretty, too,” his dad chimed in helpfully.

“What’s her name again?” his mom prompted when Blaine didn’t say anything.

“Janine,” he muttered.

“I don’t know why you’re so afraid of rejection – ” his father started.

“ – you’re right,” his mom interjected. She turned to Blaine and put a hand on his arm. “You do realize, don’t you honey, that when a girl gives you a gift like that, she’s telling you that if you ask her out, she’ll say yes.”

“We’re just friends,” Blaine said woodenly, jerking his arm out from under his mom’s hand.

“I’m sure she would like you to be more than that,” his mom said.

“I agree with your mother,” his father said, leaning back in his chair and wiping his napkin across his mouth with finality. “Why don’t you see if she wants to go to the movies this weekend. One of us can drive you.”

“Amazing as that sounds, Dad,” Blaine said, rolling his eyes just a bit before stopping himself, wary of what he can get away with, “I really can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He really didn’t want to tell them about what he considered to be his private life, but they really were leaving him no choice. Blaine paused for dramatic effect, looking into first his father’s eyes and then his mother’s.

“Because I already have a girlfriend.”

“What?” his mother practically squealed. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I was trying to avoid having a conversation like this,” he mumbled to his plate.

“Who is it? Do we know her?” she asked excitedly.

“Is she pretty?” his dad asked.

“It’s Tina. And yes,” Blaine said flatly.

“Oh, Tina, yes,” his mom said. “She is very nice. And you’ve been friends for a while, so that’s good. Isn’t that good, honey?”

“Mm-hmm,” Blaine’s father agreed absently.

“So when did this happen?” his mom asked.

“Today. Just before orchestra rehearsal.”

“Tell me all about it,” she asked, leaning forward and resting her chin in her interlaced fingers.

“I really need to practice,” Blaine said, standing up and slowly backing away from the table.

“Aw, honey, come on,” his mother whined. “I want details.”

“That’s enough, Gladys,” Blaine’s father chastised her gently. “He’ll never tell us anything if he thinks we’re just going to tease him or tell the Maggie’s of the world all about it.”

“Okay, fine,” she relented. “Go practice the cello. But don’t forget to do your homework, too.”

“Of course,” Blaine said softly. “Thanks for a great dinner, mom.”

“You’re welcome sweetie.”

Blaine had only taken a few steps down the hall when the next words from his mom’s mouth made him freeze in his tracks.

“I’m so relieved he has a girlfriend, Dan. Aren’t you?”

Blaine pressed himself against the wall, barely daring to breath as he strained to hear his father’s reply.

“Yes. I mean, I know he’s only fourteen – ”

“Almost fifteen,” she interjected.

“ – but it seems like all our friend’s sons have already gone through two or three girlfriends by now.”

“I guess he’s just always been so focused on his music,” his mom said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” his dad replied. “Though I have to admit I have worried sometimes that it could be something else.”

His mom’s next words were barely above a whisper and Blaine struggled to make them out. “I’ve wondered about that, too. Especially after I found those magazine clippings when I was dusting in his room.”

“Yeah, well, it was probably your other theory then. He really was interested in the clothes and not the models.”

Blaine froze – every part of his body seized with cold, gripping fear.

“You know, Dan, you really can’t avoid talking with him about sex anymore. Now that he has a girlfriend. You really need to give him the talk.”

Blaine clenched and unclenched his fingers. Could this get any worse?

“Well I’m not doing it tonight. I’ve got to go through the bills and get the office organized.”

“Dan.”

“What? They haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

Blaine heard a chair scrape back across the floor. The sound of footsteps on the linoleum shook him out of his paralysis and he scampered across the floor and up the stairs with light steps, deftly avoiding the creaky spots.

Safely in his room, he leaned against the closed door for a moment, breathing heavily, his eyes sweeping a wild path across his room. He took in the bed – neatly made with its maroon and black checkered patterned bedspread topped with pillows in black sheets, the book shelves with a haphazard assortment of text books and novels, the photography equipment, the framed movie posters, the music stand and polished red wood of the cello in the corner. He looked briefly at his desk – homework papers spread across it in disarray, the open laptop with the screen gone dark. And on the wall above that, the corkboard with assorted photos, flyers, and several photos of chiseled models. One stood with his back to the camera, jeans hugging his plump ass tightly, ripped shoulders bare, looking off to the side and showing off a light dusting of stubble on his cheek. Another was facing the camera, fingers hooked casually into his belt loops, rich red button down shirt open and showing the ripples of his six pack, fixing the room with a sultry look.

In retrospect, Blaine realized it was risky to cut out those pictures and save them – first under other papers on his desk and then displayed so blatantly on the corkboard. But he had really thought his room was his sanctuary. Especially now that he was in charge of vacuuming the upstairs every week, and he did his own laundry. He had forgotten about dusting. And that his parents owned the _whole_ house, including his bedroom. Of course they would come in here from time to time.

In two quick strides, Blaine was across the room. He tore the pictures off the board without even bothering to take the pins out of them first. He rummaged through the desk drawers to find the others, and then methodically tore each picture into tiny shreds. He dug through his closet for a plastic bag and pushed the bits of paper into it, tying it closed. He grabbed a wad of tissues and papers out of his trash can and dumped the bag into it, burying it with the other items and dusting his hands off on his pants.

Shaking his head wasn’t enough to erase the last twenty minutes from his memory, though Blaine shook it hard enough to set a few stiff curls loose from the gel and they bounced against his cheeks like a heavy fringe.

There was only one thing that worked when Blaine needed to lose himself completely.

Two minutes later, Blaine sat on the stool in the corner of his room, sheet music neatly arranged on the stand, bow freshly resined, grasping the cello gently between his knees. He sighed, pulling the instrument closer and placed his left hand along the strings at the top of the neck in the proper configuration to play the first chord.

Blaine drew his hand back and forth, pressing the bow against the strings and shaking his left hand to maximize the vibrato as the rich sound pulsed through his whole body. It made him feel alive, milking the beautiful strains of Bach from the smooth wood. He rocked back and forth as the cello sang under his bow. He closed his eyes, no need to look at the music anymore as he was so familiar with this piece it might as well be engraved upon his very bones.

As Blaine lost himself in the emotions of the music, he finally let himself shed the mask he wore for his friends and his parents, and sometimes for himself. He could almost feel it slide away as if it were a physical burden and he smiled as he rocked back and forth, cradling the cello to his chest and feeling the music flow through him.

Here, alone and laid bare by the music, Blaine let himself think about that thing he most wanted to keep hidden – his most dangerous desires. He embraced the cello like a lover, imagining the hard planes of a very masculine body, just the slightest bit pliant under his hands. As he continued to play, he swayed gently, imagining the scent of his lover as he nuzzled against his neck, pressed soft kisses into his hair. Blaine imagined his left hand dancing not along the strings of the cello, but up and down his lover’s neck, teasing him with a light touch that made him sigh in pleasure.

Blaine poured out all of his hurt, pain, fear, and pent up love into each note. As he lost himself more and more in his fantasy, he could almost feel the cello transform from cool, hard planes to something softer – like flesh over taut muscles, warm and supple. He caught a hint of vanilla and something spicier – a subtle scent in his nose. It seemed so real he found himself practically mouthing against the neck of the cello, not even bothered by the hair tickling his nose.

Blaine froze and the music stopped abruptly. The bow was no longer in his hand. Instead, his right hand was methodically rubbing the firm, flat stomach in front of him.

Blaine drew his head back from the neck against which his face had been buried and slowly opened his eyes. He saw a pair of thighs between his own. Thighs clad in skin-tight skinny jeans, leading down to calves covered by knee high leather boots. The body in front of him slumped against his chest and Blaine’s arm involuntarily tightened around the boy’s slim waist. The hair, just inches from Blaine’s wide eyes and gaping mouth, was chestnut brown.

After a moment of paralysis, Blaine jumped up, kicking the stool backwards and shoving the boy in front of him out of his lap. The stool and the music stand clattered to the ground.

“Blaine, honey?” Blaine whipped around toward the door at the sound of his mom’s voice. “Are you okay?” The doorknob began to turn.

Heart pounding, Blaine spun again toward the boy, trying to devise a plan to hide the impossible, physical manifestation of his fantasy before his mom could open the door.

The corner of Blaine’s room looked like a tornado had struck. The music stand, the stool, and the cello were strewn about, and the sheet music splayed across the floor. But otherwise, the room was empty. The boy was gone.

“What happened?” his mom asked with a gasp, surveying the damage.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said quickly. “I think I knocked over the music stand with my bow when I was playing with my eyes closed. It startled me and – ” he swept a hand through the air indicating the rest of the chaos.

His mom laughed. “Only my son,” she said breathily through the laughter. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Blaine said, rubbing his hands across his face to hide the growing blush. “Sorry again about the noise. Guess I’m done practicing for the night.”

“Good night, honey. Sleep well,” his mom said, shutting the door behind her and still chuckling.

Blaine looked at the mess in the corner and sighed. He didn’t think sleep would come anytime soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine avoided the cello and the freshly cleaned-up music corner of his room for three days before his parents began commenting on the lack of music in the house. When he finally set his bow to the strings again, his heart was pounding and every imagined sound made him jump, skidding the bow and causing a screech like fingernails on a chalkboard.

By the end of the week, however, Blaine had settled back into his regular routine, losing himself in the music as he perfected each song note by note.

He wasn’t sure if it was relief or disappointment that he felt when the cello stubbornly remained a cello in his arms.

He must have imagined the whole thing.

******************

Dating Tina was much like being her friend. They got together every few days after school as they had always done. Sometimes they walked to the park down the block and swung on the swings or sat side-by-side on the slide platform, dangling their legs over the edge and chatting animatedly about their classmates, the latest episodes of their favorite TV shows, or funny childhood memories. Sometimes they hitched a ride into town with a sophomore or junior friend to have a slice of pizza or a scoop of ice cream. A few times they walked to Tina’s house and watched a movie from her family’s extensive DVD collection.

The only new thing – now that they were dating – was the awkward silence that sometimes accompanied the expectant looks from Tina whenever they had a lull in the conversation. Blaine had never been so aware of these conversational lulls when they were just friends. But now, each time he felt an overwhelming pressure to fill the silence, to change the subject, to put some distance between them when Tina would stare meaningfully into his eyes and wait.

Blaine wasn’t completely oblivious, though he realized that it helped him in this situation to cultivate an air of cluelessness. He knew that Tina was waiting for him to kiss her. And it’s not that he was entirely opposed to the concept. He would steal the occasional quick glance at her lips when she wasn’t looking and wonder what they would feel like pressed against his. It didn’t excite him the way he thought it should, but it did spark within him a mixture of curiosity and fear, which seemed at least somewhat normal.

In the meantime, Tina continued to pause sometimes in mid-conversation and just stare into his eyes. She would lean in just a bit, make sure her mouth was closed, but her lips parted just slightly in invitation.  And she would wait. And Blaine was grateful that she didn’t close the distance, that she didn’t push it any farther. He continued to pretend not to notice these things and wondered how long he could put off the inevitable.

************

Blaine had just finished practicing a new piece he was preparing for the upcoming all county orchestra auditions, and was trying to decide whether to tackle Algebra or American History homework first, when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Blaine called.

“The piece sounded good,” Blaine’s dad said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Thanks,” Blaine said, wondering why his father had closed the door.

His dad sat heavily on the edge of his bed and Blaine turned in his desk chair to face him.

“We need to talk,” his dad said slowly.

“Okay,” Blaine said hesitantly. “What about?”

“About something I should have brought up with you a while ago,” his dad said mysteriously. He glanced around the room and swallowed nervously. “I’m not sure how to even start,” he laughed awkwardly. “But I guess now you have a girlfriend, I really can’t put it off any longer.”

Oh no. This could be none other than –

“Son, we need to have the talk,” his dad said with a sigh.

“No, Dad, really. We don’t need to do that,” Blaine protested.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this with me,” his dad plowed on, “and it’s awkward for me, too, but I just couldn’t live with myself if you got into trouble – or got a girl into trouble – and I could have prevented it by swallowing a little embarrassment.”

“That’s – uh – really nice of you, Dad,” Blaine said awkwardly, feeling his face burning all the way to the tips of his ears as he looked anywhere but at his father. “But you really don’t have to. I mean, they, uh, already covered this stuff in our health class at school. I know all about STDs and teen pregnancies and using protection. And abstinence, of course. Abstinence is good…”

“Well, ahem, that’s good,” Blaine’s dad said. “I want you to know that I’m not condoning anything by doing this, but I don’t want you going without that protection just because you’re – you know – scared to buy it or anything.”

Blaine looked up and nearly shuddered in horror. His dad had pulled a small box of condoms from his inner jacket pocket and was holding them out toward Blaine. “Go on. Take them,” he said.

Blaine stood up and grabbed the box, not even looking at it before he shoved it into a desk drawer.

“Dad, I really don’t think you have to worry about that. I’ve only just started dating Tina and we haven’t even thought about – ”

“Yes, I know, I know,” his dad said dismissively. “But you never know when something could just happen suddenly. You really should keep one of those on you at all times.”

“Um, okay,” Blaine said, deciding that cooperation was probably the best way to get this conversation to end as quickly as possible.

“And you can ask me questions, you know. I may be just an old guy to you, but I do know about all those other things you kids get up to besides just penetrative sex.”

Blaine cringed and stayed silent, praying for his dad to just stop talking.

“You need to know that blow jobs can spread disease, too. So you need to use a condom even for that.”

“Yeah, dad. I know,” Blaine said, cradling his head in his hands.

“But there are things you can do that are safe. I can tell you about them if you like – ”

“No, please,” Blaine groaned.

“Or you can just get creative on your own,” his dad continued, as if Blaine was not cowering like a wounded animal on his desk chair wishing desperately to be anywhere but in this room at this moment. “You’re lucky, you know. That Tina is quite a busty girl.”

“Dad, that’s just gross,” Blaine said pointedly, now fixing his dad with a disgusted glare.

“Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t have let on that I noticed,” his dad said sheepishly. “Don’t tell your mom that I said that, okay?”

“Not a problem,” Blaine said. “In fact, I will be doing my best to erase this whole conversation from my memory.”

“All right, son,” his dad chuckled, seeming much more at ease. “You feel free to come to me with any questions. And remember, it’s really important that you respect her. She has a right to say no. To anything. And you need to make sure she knows that you care about her as a person, not just as a sex object.”

“Okay, dad,” Blaine said, defeated. “Can I please get back to my Algebra homework now?”

“Absolutely,” his dad said, getting slowly to his feet. With one hand on the doorknob, he turned back toward Blaine. “Remember to keep one of those condoms with you all the time. Put it in your book-bag, though, not your wallet. The rubbing ruins them.”

“Okay, dad. Good night,” Blaine said pointedly, gesturing toward the door.

When his dad finally, finally left, Blaine dropped his head on his desk and sighed. Out of curiosity, he opened the desk drawer and picked up the box of condoms, turning it over in his hand to read it. “Ultra-thin for maximum pleasure and maximum protection,” it said. Blaine dropped it back in the drawer with a sigh.

*************

It happened at Sugar’s party. Pretty much everyone in their circle of friends was going, so naturally when Tina asked Blaine to meet her there, he said yes. Sugar’s parents had agreed to the party, and even though they weren’t there, an older cousin was in charge, so there was no alcohol. But there was plenty of music, and Sugar had transformed her basement into a happening club with the pounding music, black lights, a disco ball, and the crowds of excited freshmen and sophomores gyrating to the beat.

Blaine prided himself on being a pretty good dancer. He and Tina danced in a circle with a half dozen other friends, taking turns jumping into the middle to outdo each other showing off some crazy moves. When Tina danced into the middle for the second time, Brian shoved Blaine forward with a guffaw. “Hey, lovers!” he shouted. “You should dance together.”

The rest of their friends hooted and clapped, urging them to dance closer and closer until they were nearly grinding in the center of the group. Tina was nearly beaming at him, the disco ball lights glimmering off the whites of her eyes and her teeth.

“My turn,” shouted Christina as she shoved Blaine and Tina back toward the outskirts of the circle to make room for her pop and lock frenzy in the center.

“Are you thirsty,” Blaine yelled into Tina’s ear over the music. She nodded and he grabbed her hand and led her toward the relative quiet of the kitchen.

Sodas in hand, Tina suggested a walk outside. “The music is great, but I can barely hear myself think in there,” she said, her voice sounding loud in Blaine’s ears as they throbbed with the phantom beat still echoing in his head.

“Sounds good,” Blaine said, holding the door open for her.

Blaine was surprised that the backyard was empty. He thought for sure some other party goers would be enjoying the cool night air, but they were alone. He doesn’t really remember anything they talked about. All he could focus on was just how close Tina was standing to him, facing him. He could feel the gentle warmth of her breath on his face.

He was just thinking that he really couldn’t avoid kissing her any longer and that he would have to drum up the courage from somewhere, when Tina made the decision for him. She dropped her cup on the lawn, placed her hands on his shoulders, pushed up on her toes and pressed their lips together with a sigh.

Blaine didn’t want to drop his cup – he thought there might still be soda in it. But he placed his free hand gingerly on the back of her head and tried to move his lips around convincingly. It wasn’t bad. Her lips were soft and gentle against his own and it wasn’t too difficult for him to ignore the slightly unpleasant feeling of her breath mingling with his own.

Tina grabbed his wrist and the cup fell to the ground, splashing a bit of soda onto his leg. She dragged him forward by his wrist and pressed her lips against his harder, opening hers slightly against his. It was wet and a bit cold from the ice in the soda, and a little weird. Blaine was still trying to decide whether he should open up his mouth to her, and if so, how far, when she pulled his wrist harder and pushed his curled-in fingers against the side of her breast. He startled a little at the softness of it and forced himself not to giggle as he heard “that Tina is quite a busty girl,” echoing through his head in his father’s voice.

Tina pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes lustfully as she breathed, “You can touch them if you like.”

Do I have the right to say no? Blaine thought as he looked into his girlfriend’s eyes.

No. It was such a simple word. Easy to understand. But sometimes too much of a mouthful to utter.

Instead, Blaine whispered, “Okay,” and leaned forward, reclaiming Tina’s lips and giving her breast a tentative squeeze.

“Woo-hoo,” called Jordan, leaning out the back door.

Blaine and Tina jumped apart and whipped around, smiling sheepishly as Jordan laughed. “Come on, you two. My mom just texted. She’s picking us up in five minutes, so you better get yourselves decent by then.”

Tina smiled shyly at Blaine before heading toward the door. As soon as she turned, Blaine let his smile drop. He sighed. Bending down, he picked the cups off the lawn, and followed her into the kitchen.

**********

The next night, Blaine ignored several texts from Tina and wondered what, exactly, was wrong with him.

He pushed the door to his bedroom closed with a careful, quiet click and retreated back to his desk. He opened his laptop, and after a furtive glance at the door, he began an image search. After a few tries – tits seemed to yield more appropriate results than breasts – he scrolled through the images on his screen and willed himself to feel something.

Aesthetically, he realized he appreciated symmetry. Size didn’t matter as much as firmness and color. He preferred rosy pink, full, soft nipples to browner, harder nubs. He scrolled through the pictures, appraising them with the detached, objective gaze of an artist searching for the perfect model for a painting. It took him about ten minutes to realize that he didn’t feel aroused in the slightest.

With another glance at the closed door, he typed in a new set of search terms, and now the screen was filled with chiseled chests, glistening pecs, bulging biceps, strong muscled thighs, and straining cocks. Blaine’s breath came out in tiny huffs and a tingling sensation spread from his ground out toward his fingers and toes. He realized he wanted to see more – wanted to see what two guys would do together on his screen. And just as he was typing in a new set of search terms, his door flew open without warning.

“It’s time for dinner, dear,” his mom said in a sing-song, cheery voice. “What are you up to?”

His heart was in his throat, but thankfully Blaine was quick with his laptop’s touchpad. He swiveled the screen around for his mother to see. “English paper,” he choked out, trying to force his breath to come out evenly.

“Oh. Well, can you take a break for dinner?” she asked.

“Yeah, let me just finish this paragraph and I’ll be right there,” Blaine said softly. “And mom?” he asked as she stepped through the door.

“Yes, Blaine?”

“Do you think you could maybe knock next time? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

She smiled. “Of course. Sorry. I guess that explains why you’re so jumpy.” She laughed. “I was beginning to wonder if you were up to something.”

Blaine smiled innocently at her, holding the pose for a few seconds after the door shut behind her, before collapsing with his head nearly between his knees and gasping. He only gave himself a few moments to recover, though, before he sped into action, erasing his browser history and changing the password on his laptop for good measure.

************

Two weeks and three reluctant kissing sessions later, Tina solemnly asked Blaine to walk with her to the park after school. Worried that this might lead to more kissing, groping, or something more, Blaine felt disappointed that the park was completely devoid of other people that day.

But Tina kept a solid two feet of space between them as they sat on a park bench facing each other and talked. Or Tina talked. Blaine mostly listened.

“I’m so sorry, Blaine,” she said for what seemed like the eighth time.

Blaine was stunned. This certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. And he honestly didn’t know how he felt about it.

“But I don’t understand,” he said. “How did this even happen?”

“Remember that dance class I signed up for through Parks and Rec?” she asked.

Blaine nodded. He vaguely recollected Tina’s excitement when her parents offered to sign her up for the hip hop dance class as an early birthday present.

“He’s in the class, too. He goes to Carmel High. And he’s a really good dancer. He’s a sophomore, too,” she said dreamily. She glanced at Blaine guiltily and forced the smile off her face. “I’m so sorry, Blaine. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear.”

“No, I – um. It’s okay, I guess,” Blaine said feebly.

“I guess I just realized,” Tina said softly, “that I kind of put you in an awkward position. The way I asked you out. And when we kissed, I always felt like you were holding back. I didn’t want to admit that maybe you didn’t really like me the same way…” her face crumpled a bit and a tear ran down one cheek.

“Oh, no, Tina,” Blaine said in a rush. “It wasn’t like that. Don’t. Don’t cry. Please.”

Tina sniffed and wiped the tear away. “No, really. It’s okay. I really value your friendship and I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want. Especially now that I know how awesome it is when the wanting is mutual.” She smiled a wobbly smile. “I don’t even feel like it’s fair for me to be the one acting hurt. After all, I kind of cheated on you.”

“Yeah, well – I don’t really know what to say to that,” Blaine said honestly.

“I just hope we can still be friends. I’m so sorry,” she said again. “It’s just that Mike and I have so much in common. And there’s a real, mutual attraction there. And now that I know what that’s like – ”

“It’s okay. I understand,” Blaine said. Anything to just get her to stop talking about mutual attraction. He cursed his poor acting skills for giving himself away and hoped she wouldn’t guess what the real problem was in their relationship.

Tina placed a hand on his thigh. “You’re a great guy, Blaine. A wonderful friend. And a real cutie. I know you’re going to find the right girl someday and it’s going to be great. For both of you.”

Blaine dared a smile for the first time in this conversation. It seemed his secret was still safe for now.

*************

“There’s a coupon in the paper this week for buy one get one free tickets at the movie theater downtown,” Blaine’s mom said. “Pass the salad dressing, please.”

Without asking for clarification, Blaine grabbed the vinaigrette from his side of the table and handed it to her.

“You should ask Tina to go,” his dad suggested. “I can give you a ride if you go on Saturday night. I can’t do Friday.”

“I can’t do either,” Blaine said.

“Why not?” his parents asked in unison, then laughed at each other.

“I just can’t,” Blaine said sullenly.

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” his mom teased.

When Blaine didn’t answer, she pressed. “Honey, seriously, is everything okay?”

“We broke up, okay?” Blaine practically snarled.

“I’m so sorry, honey. What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Blaine said in a low, warning tone.

“Don’t speak to your mother that way,” Blaine’s dad piped in. “She’s just concerned about you. You know we can’t help if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

“God,” Blaine bellowed, finally reaching his breaking point. “All the two of you ever want to talk about is Tina, Tina, Tina. I am still a person, too.”

After a few beats of stunned silence, his mother said gently, “We know that, honey. Of course we care about you for you. We were just excited for you. First love can be so fun – but also so heartbreaking. I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“She found someone else,” Blaine said dejectedly.

“Oh. Ouch,” his dad said sympathetically. “That’s tough. But it does prove that there are many fish in the sea. I’m sure there are other girls you’ve had your eye on.”

Blaine glared at his dad. “Not now, okay?”

“Of course, dear,” his mom said, patting his arm comfortingly. “You take as much time as you need.”

**********

Blaine never finished a meal so quickly in all his life. He felt so oppressed by his parents’ not-so-subtle worried glances and their awkward, stilted conversation about anything but Blaine’s disastrous love life.

With even the air of the house bearing down on him, Blaine headed outside for a jog around the neighborhood. The evening air calmed his racing mind a bit, but his quads and his lungs gave out before he had achieved full peace of mind. He limped home, rushed through a shower, and stood in the middle of his room, fresh sweatpants and t-shirt in place, toweling dry his still damp hair.

He looked at the cello in the corner and smiled. He was lucky to always have a sure fire way to escape.

Not wanting to be disturbed, Blaine shut the door and wedged a chair under the handle for good measure.

This time, Blaine didn’t even bother with sheet music. He wanted something emotional, but mindless. Something he knew inside and out. One of the Brandenburg concertos would suit his mood perfectly.

Blaine stroked the neck of the cello lovingly, then began to tune it, relishing in the rich sound vibrating throughout his whole body. He played a few random notes experimentally, changing the tone by varying the pressure of the bow and the pulse of the vibrato. He loved losing himself in making the cello sing.

Sighing in a mix of pleasure and relief, Blaine closed his eyes and let the first strands of the melody flow through him and out of the wooden instrument. Soon he was rocking back and forth in time with the music, every emotion playing out on his face in perfect harmony with the emotion he drew out from each soaring note.

He hadn’t played with this much unbridled feeling for a long time. Not since the night he hallucinated the impossible transformation of his cello into a living, breathing boy. _Lover,_ his mind supplied. Blaine faltered a bit, dropping one note and struggling to pull the next one into tune. It’s not so weird, he thought. To think of the cello that way. Hadn’t Mr. Purcell, his private music teacher, once told him that he should embrace the instrument and rock it back and forth like a lover as he poured his emotions into the music?

Comforted by the thought, Blaine was soon lost in the notes once more. He found himself stroking the neck of the cello lightly with his thumb, rubbing it with slow, sensual circles. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, and wasn’t at all surprised to smell vanilla and spice once more.

This time, as the cello transformed to flesh beneath Blaine’s hands, he didn’t startle. He lowered one hand carefully to the floor and lightly dropped the bow, keeping his other hand lightly wrapped around the warm neck. He then slowly moved both hands to the boy’s shoulders, and lifted himself backward off the stool. Opening his eyes, he studied the body before him. Broad but slender shoulders, narrow waist, sculpted chestnut hair, chest rising and falling with even, unperturbed breaths.

Carefully, Blaine backed up a few steps, still keeping light contact with the boy’s shoulders. He didn’t want to risk letting go. He was convinced that if he did, the boy would fall over and turn back into the cello as soon as he made contact with the floor. Blaine took a deep, steadying breath, grasped the boy’s shoulders, and slowly spun him around on the stool.

Blaine nearly gasped when he saw the boy’s face. The planes of his cheekbones, the pale loveliness of his skin, his slightly upturned nose, the swirling depths of greens and blues that made up his shining eyes, the soft pink of his wide lips that were formed in an expectant, closed-mouthed smile.

Blaine jumped back, pulling his hands back toward himself as if the boy’s skin burned. He immediately panicked, ready to lunge back and catch the boy, but the boy didn’t fall. He sat, tall and perfectly poised on the stool, stretching one long leg languidly to cross demurely over the other.

“W-what are you?” Blaine whispered.

“Hmm,” the boy mused, tilting his head to one side. “I’m not really sure. Don’t you know? You brought me here after all.”

His voice was high and clear and light – precise like the notes Blaine can only reach by stretching his pinky down along the A string of the cello.

The boy was looking at Blaine expectantly.

“Um, I’m not sure,” Blaine said carefully. “Aren’t you my cello?”

“Your cello,” the boy huffed out with indignation. “Do I look like a cello?” He leapt to his feet and struck a pose – his heals together and toes pointed slightly outward, one arm at his side and the other wrapped around it, gripping lightly at the elbow, his hips slightly tilted to one side.

Blaine took this as an invitation to scan the boy quickly from head to toe. He was a little taller than Blaine, slender, and dressed very stylishly. The pants hugged him like a second skin and the shirt was layered with both a vest and a scarf in contrasting colors. “No,” Blaine breathed out reverently. “No, you don’t look like one at all.”

“So why would you say that?” the boy asked.

Blaine glanced around the room and shuffled his feet. “Well, you appeared in the exact spot my cello was in while I was playing. And now that you’re here, the cello is gone.”

“Oh,” the boy said simply. “I guess that would probably lead me to the same conclusion. But I’m pretty sure I’m not actually a cello. In fact, I think I’m just a guy – albeit a very fashionable one.” He gestured toward his outfit and Blaine nodded in agreement. “In fact, I think you’ll find that you and I are probably quite alike.”

“Okay,” Blaine agreed. “But where did you come from? What’s your name?”

The boy opened his mouth to speak, paused, and then closed it again. He pursed his lips and scrunched his brow. Finally, he said, “I’m not really sure. I mean, I know I have a name and that I come from somewhere. But now that I’m here, it’s like my actual life is a dream I’ve just woken up from. I can grasp at the edges of it, but it fades from my grasp like tendrils of mist.” The words sounded even more poetic to Blaine when said in that lilting, musical voice. After a pause, the boy bounced up and down excitedly on his toes. “I have an idea,” he exclaimed. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself. If we are at all alike as I suspect, hearing about you might jog my memory.”

“Okay,” Blaine said slowly. He was a bit skeptical, but certainly willing to try if it would help his ethereal companion. “I’m not really sure what to tell you.” The boy sat down on the stool again, smoothed a crease out of his pants, and waited patiently, blinking at Blaine rapidly a few times before holding perfectly still.

“My name is Blaine Anderson,” he continued. “I just turned fifteen last month. I’m a freshman in high school here in West Lima, Ohio. And I play the cello. That’s kind of my thing.” Running a hand through his still damp hair and looking down bashfully, he added, “I’m pretty good at it.” After a pause he asked, “Is this helping you remember anything at all?”

“You’re adorable,” the boy said. Blaine felt his face flush hot and he ran a hand through his hair again.  “And it does help a little,” he continued. “I’m pretty sure I’m in high school, too. A sophomore. Sixteen years old. I live with my dad and I play an instrument, too. Clarinet. But I don’t remember where,” he finished a bit forlornly.

“That’s okay,” Blaine said. “Maybe we can look you up. What’s your name.”

The boy looked thoughtful for a moment. “I almost had it, but it’s gone. I don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Blaine repeated, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”

“Right,” the boy said doubtfully.

“Why do you think you’re here?” Blaine asked. Then, realizing that might have sounded rude, he backtracked immediately. “I mean – not that I mind you being here. It’s, well, um, really nice, actually,” he stammered.

“I don’t really know,” the boy said. “Maybe you need to learn something from me. Or maybe I need to learn something from you. Or both.” After a pause he added, “Or it could be completely random. Do you think this is your dream or mine?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine said, thinking that having such a gorgeous and unique young man in his room was certainly a dream of some sort – but perhaps not the kind the boy meant. “Maybe it’s both?”

Blaine and his companion smiled at each other shyly. Then the politeness his parents had pretty well ingrained in him kicked in. He was just about to offer to get the boy a drink or a snack when he nearly jumped out of his skin at the loud pounding on his door.

“Blaine!” his mom shouted, a tense edge to her voice. “I’m knocking, honey, like you asked. Would you open the door, please?”

Blaine rushed to the door, but stopped short of removing the chair from under the handle. After all, how would he explain the other boy in his room? There were only two options – under the bed or the closet. The closet was certainly less dusty, so that would have to do. Blaine spun around urgently, already reaching out a hand to grab the boy and rush him to the closet. But there was no one there. Just the cello, once again lying on the floor next to the stool. Blaine whipped around, staring intently into every corner of the room.

“Blaine? Are you okay?” his mom’s voice was strained with worry. Just as she started to try the doorknob, Blaine leapt at the door and shoved the chair out of the way.

“I’m coming,” he said, swinging the door open.

His mom’s face flooded with relief. She looked past him at the cello on the floor. “Are you okay?” she asked uncertainly.

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly. “Why?” He raised a hand to tuck a curl behind his ear.

“Oh my God, Blaine!” his mom gasped.

“What?” he managed to say, as she grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand toward her, palm up. All four of his fingers were bleeding.

“Dear God,” she said. “Let me help you clean this up.”

Blaine followed her in dumb shock to the bathroom, where his mom rinsed his hand under the sink to reveal the narrow, string-sized cuts. As she patted them dry and added a strip of antibacterial ointment and then a band aid to each one, she shook her head. “I should have known this would happen,” she said woefully. “You’ve been playing that cello for hours.”

 


End file.
